


Livewire

by Cranberrytaboo



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: A Knife! NO!!, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, At least my best attempt at a case fic, Autopsy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Foreplay, Graphic Description of Corpses, Guns, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Slow Burn, Workplace Murder, being held at gunpoint, discussions of death and lividity, dislocation of limbs, homophobic actions, mentions of misogynistic behavior, old men getting a little handsy, physical fighting, pre-game, some slight depressive spiraling but nothing huge, that happens before the sex dont worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cranberrytaboo/pseuds/Cranberrytaboo
Summary: Harry Du Bois and Jean Vicquemare head to the Eminent Domain to investigate the death of a laborer. Jean tries to balance his work with personal matters.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Jean Vicquemare
Comments: 36
Kudos: 34





	1. Names, and Notions

“Morning, Officer Hothead!”

“Zip it, Torson.”

Satellite Officer Jean Vicquemare had accrued a number of nicknames during his stint at the 41st, each more ridiculous than the last. Hothead, Fireball, Windbag. _Cerveau Extraordinaire_ , one he’d earned after a particularly thorough reaming regarding him losing a high-profile perp amidst a thinning crowd in a marketplace. That one had stuck for months after those words left the Captain’s mouth, haunting him around the coffee station until he had actually snapped the handle of his mug in frustration. There was an infinite and ever-growing list of names, and Jean hated every single fucking one of them. In particular, he couldn’t stand…

“Thanks, babe!” The gruff voice of his partner rang through the office as Jean set – rather, dropped – some finished paperwork onto the desk. Jean rolled his eyes and frowned deeply, furrows in his cheeks making him appear much older than he was.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” His fingers tapped impatiently on the wooden surface of Harry’s desk. “Look what you’ve done – the assclown brigade is already in full swing.” He threw a glare over at McLaine and Torson, who were devolving into a fit of giggles off to the side. “Would you two can it already?”

Of course, there was no reason to expect Mack Torson to actually ‘can it.’ Instead, the giant man doubled down, barely able to form a sentence through his cackling. “Aw, whassamatter, ‘babe’? Can’t take the heat?”

Had Jean been watching Harry, he would have noticed the slightest twitch at the corners of the man’s eyes.

However, Jean was preoccupied with wrangling the ‘assclown brigade’ back into submission. “How about, instead of listening in on conversations that have fuck all to do with you, you get back to your desks and get some actual fucking work done? I think we’d all benefit from that. God knows I wish I had the time to slack off as much as you two. But some of us…” he paused for emphasis, “have our hands full trying to do our fucking jobs.” Pleased with the sheepish silence radiating from the instigators, Jean finally turned his attention back to his partner.

“Nice going, babe.” Harry cocked his head to throw Jean what he must have believed to be a winning smile. Jean looked nonplussed. “Takes a whole lot of effort to get a little quiet around here, huh?”

Jean rubbed his left temple with his thumb. “It’s about to be quieter. Maybe. We got a call about a body in the Eminent Domain. I’m thinking workplace negligence but the caller seemed to believe there was foul play. We’re wanted out there to put people at ease if nothing else.” He slid up the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch. “And we were supposed to leave five minutes ago.”

Harry’s grin only widened, and he smacked his hands on top of his desk to steady himself as he practically leapt to his feet. “That’s not a problem.” He downed the last dregs of his coffee, tipping the mug back and generally making a mess of his beard. Jean, all too used to cleaning up after Harry’s messes, had to actively resist the urge to wipe away the coffee droplets, instead simply passing him a tissue. “The 8/81 isn’t too crowded this time of day, so we can just drive a little faster.”

“No, we cannot.” And that was the end of that conversation.

They arrived at the Eminent Domain without too much trouble, save for a silent war over how loud the radio was playing (Jean wanted it quiet and non-distracting, Harry wanted it to shatter their eardrums and pierce through their skulls) and the occasional bout of road rage as they sifted through relatively light traffic. Parking in one of the less narrow alleyways, the duo made their way into the maze of bleak, weathered buildings.

Jean cast his gaze skyward, eyes following the curves of the great concrete reptile, the ever-growing serpent called the 8/81, the highway that blotted out the setting sun as their shadows grew deeper and longer beneath them. He glanced at his watch. 16:46. As winter deepened, it would only get dark earlier and earlier. A strange weight settled itself inside his chest.

“Babe, you still with me?” Harry’s voice cut through the heavy silence of the Domain, startling Jean out of his trance.

“Yeah, yeah.” He glanced at the slip of paper he’d written the caller’s address on. They still had a way to go on foot. Now was as good a time as any to ask questions. “Why is it that you insist on calling me that?”

“What, babe?” Harry scratched his jaw. The sound of short fingernails against the coarse hair and stubble on his chin was strangely pleasant. “It’s just a nickname, you know? A term of endearment. Cuz I’m endeared to you.” He said it without much thought, as if it were self-explanatory. “Besides, it’s totally disco, right? Callin’ people babe.”

Jean’s brows twitched. He’d had just about enough of disco. Spending as much time with Harry as he did, he felt utterly inundated, saturated, _drowned_ in disco. Or whatever it was that Harry’s mind crafted as disco adjacent.

In the back of his mind, a nagging voice whispered. _Something doesn’t quite add up_. He shook off the thought without much focus. It wasn’t like this was essential to the case, he could deal with asking more questions when they weren’t investigating a death.

The address slip took them to the apartment of Didier Thomas, an electrician with a rough-hewn face and short, wiry facial hair. He stepped aside to let them into the cramped living space, following behind anxiously. “I know what I saw, officers. Paul was climbing, up on one of those big utility poles, he was going to fix a frayed wire, standard stuff, then he just… fell.”

Jean shook his head. “Workplace accidents happen all the time, Sir. Isn’t it possible that your colleague’s rope gave out? Or perhaps he lost his footing before he could secure himself.” He paused. “Accusations like this are very severe, you know.”

This did nothing to appease Thomas, who simply grew more agitated, wringing his calloused hands together. “Paul has been in the business for years, he wouldn’t have made a rookie mistake like slipping… But that’s not why I think it was planned.”

“Go on…” Harry wasn’t necessarily impatient, but he did seem to want to cut to the chase.

“See, the second he fell, a bunch of us tried to go help him, but this big, muscular fellow, a new hire, he got there first. He was shouting about an ambulance, and trying to carry Paul away. Rousseau tried stopping him, and I swear it was about to come to blows. Then management came out, got us all to settle, had Paul sent off to the local clinic.” He swallowed thickly, as if suddenly parched. “Reckon his body is still there.”

A pause. Jean exhaled through his nose before speaking up. “Can you give us the names and addresses of the people present? Also, please tell us where that clinic is located.”

The detectives spent the next two hours getting what information they could from Thomas, names, addresses, as well as a referral to a local bar that the victim, Paul Archer, had frequented. Thomas himself offered, and made, dinner for the three of them, then refused to let them help clean up, to Jean’s frustration. At the offer of a drink, Jean reluctantly acquiesced, reasoning that one wouldn't be too much of a problem. _I honestly need it anyway_ , he thought. They then sat around over cold glasses of cheap beer, Thomas retelling his story until the detectives were quite sure they'd wrung out every last detail. 

The Satellite-Officer checked his watch again, and groaned when he saw how late it had become. He rose abruptly, wincing as he banged his thigh against the table in his haste. Observing this, Harry stood up much more carefully.

“Thanks for the dinner, Didier.” Harry was filling in for his partner, who was busy biting back a string of pained curses. “We’ll come around later to keep you updated on what we find. Take care of yourself.”

With that, the detectives slipped back into the chill of winter. Pale streetlamps flickered erratically overhead, dying bulbs a reminder of the Eminent Domain’s suffering infrastructure. Jean could feel a migraine coming on.

“Well… Now what? It’s probably too late to talk to the people Didier mentioned, or to go to the workplace or the clinic.”

“Then I guess we’d better head back to Central Jamrock.” Jean couldn’t get a reign on the reluctance in his voice. They had so little to work with, and going home empty-handed never sat right with him.

Harry filled in the blanks with what they were both thinking. "Let’s find a place to board up out here for the night. Then, we can get a head start tomorrow.”

Jean nodded slowly after a moment. It was a strategy they’d employed before. Find some place near the crime scene to spend the night, leave the window cracked open, sleep with one eye open, listen in for anything on the streets that could give them a lead, then get up at the asscrack of dawn to descend upon the denizens of Jamrock while they were still groggy and vulnerable. Unorthodox, yes, but highly effective. Besides, even if Jean wouldn’t say it, he _really_ didn’t want to make the drive back to the station, especially not with the watery lager swirling in his bloodstream.

The motel they wound up in was a tiny affair by the name of Maison Plaisir, which Jean found ironic, as the tiny double beds in their shared room felt more like sacks of flour than mattresses. “Plaisir, my ass.”

Harry snickered from his own bed. “Aw, poor Princess Vicquemare, won’t sleep a wink for the pea under his mattress.”

“Says the man whose neck was out for a week because he slept without a pillow one night.” Jean snapped back, taking the bait.

“I’m allowed to have aches and pains like that, I’m old as hell, Babe.”

“You’re not that much older than I am. Besides, I’ve seen how you run. You’re not as feeble as you’re trying to make yourself out to be.”

“Pfft.” Harry smiled more genuinely as he rolled onto his side. “Night, babe.”

Imperceptibly in the unlit room, Jean’s expression softened. “See you bright and early, Mullen.”

Jean worked through the facts of the case in his head as he struggled to fall asleep, trying so hard to focus on the job, and not on the pressing question boring a hole in the back of his brain. _If it’s so disco to call people babe, then how come he rarely says it to anyone else?_


	2. Guesswork, and Gaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Harry interview the team manager, and get a good look at the body. Something doesn't sit quite right.

As discussed the night before, Jean awoke before the first rays of sunlight, groggily fumbling with the bedside table for a few moments before shutting off the alarm. He lay in silence for a few moments, wondering if Harry had woken up before him, when a noise like heavy machinery erupted from the bed beside his. He rolled his eyes. Typical. He could wake him up normally, or…

A glint of mischief shone in Jean’s eyes as he slowly rose to his full height, looming over the bed beside Harry like a shadow. He counted to three in his head before throwing his entire weight onto the bed just beside his sleeping partner.

Several things happened at once. Most immediately, Harry awoke with a yelp, sitting bolt upright, a crack resounding as his spine popped awkwardly. Fortunately for Harry’s wounded pride, and back, Jean didn’t escape unscathed. Rather, he learned why it would be a bad idea for a man to throw himself onto, for example, a pile of potatoes. He groaned as his arms and legs throbbed, berating him for ever willingly jumping onto such a hard surface.

“That’s for the time in Villalobos, you fucking basket case.” Jean’s smug voice smothered any concern Harry might have felt from the pained sounds he made a moment before.

The two trudged out into the fresh snowfall just as dawn crept upward from the horizon, wielding shitty hotel coffee in travel cups as their best line of defense against the chill. Jean cursed under his breath. He should have paid closer attention to the forecast. Sure, his standard-issue coat was serviceable, but it wasn’t exactly toasty.

Harry frowned and ran a hand through his facial hair. “I don’t like the sound of this new hire Didier told us about. He sounds suspicious as all hell. Why would he rush onto the scene like that? Sounds like everyone else was in shock, but he acted almost immediately.”

“Sure, maybe. Or Didier could be exaggerating.” Jean shook his coffee cup lightly from side to side, trying to get the synthetic powdered creamer to mix in properly. “He’s a new hire, and laborers like electricians tend to be pretty tight-knit. A fresh face is more likely to raise suspicion, even if it’s unwarranted.”

“D’ya think maybe the new hire and the victim- Paul,” Harry was more reminding himself than Jean, “that maybe they knew each other before finding each other at the electrical company?”

Jean sipped his coffee and made a face. Somehow it was bitter, burnt, and pitifully weak at once. “That’s possible too. I think our best bet is to seek out the coworker that nearly got into a fight with the newbie. I think Didier said the guy’s name is Rousseau.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Then, we can go to the clinic, then the scene. Maybe tonight, we’ll check out the bar the victim went to. We may find a lead from people who saw him often.”

The pair arrived at a grey, stony apartment building within the hour. The door was opened by a tall man with greying hair, flecked in patches with deep rust. On the surface, he seemed somewhat heavy-set, but movement betrayed strong muscles beneath the layer of fat. In particular, his biceps were jarringly impressive. He regarded the detectives for a moment before smiling politely. “Good morning, officers. Can I help you?”

Jean and Harry explained a glance. Harry spoke first. “Good morning. You must be Rousseau? Your coworker Didier told us to come talk to you about the…” He paused, stopping himself from saying something like ‘murder’ outright. “The incident from earlier.”

The large man paused before shaking his head. “Let’s not mince words, shall we? And please, call me Olivier.” He allowed them passage into his apartment. Similarly to Didier’s situation, it was a humble affair, with very little embellishment.

“Electrical work doesn’t pay too high, huh?” Harry blurted out. Jean winced and dug his elbow into Harry’s side, earning a sideways glance.

Fortunately, they were greeted not with anger, but with a burst of laughter. “Shit, I guess I asked for that one, right? No, the pay sucks, but as the team manager I get off a little better than Didier and the others.” He winked conspiratorially. “I make the big bucks. I’ve got a full bathtub in this place.”

_That’s so fucking sad._ Jean tried to stifle his thoughts about wages. Their own salary was pretty piss-poor, as it was.

“That’s so fucking sad.” Harry said, out loud, unstifled. Jean wanted to strangle him in that moment.

Olivier looked at his hands for a few moments. They were rough, calloused, and webbed with scars. “It is, isn’t it? We work ourselves to the fucking bone, and for what?” He shook his head. “Sorry, fellas. You wanted to talk about what happened to Paul, yeah?”

Harry bounded back quickly. “Yes, that’s right. We heard you almost got into a fight with the new guy.”

“What? No.” Olivier looked surprised. “I don’t throw down with coworkers, especially not someone trying to integrate.”

“Well, Didier said you looked like you were ready to go toe-to-toe with this man trying to integrate.”

“Didier told you that, huh? He’s always been skittish with me. Good guy, but he thinks I’m liable to snap at the slightest provocation.” He looked at his fingernails, picking them a bit.

“And that’s the kind of man you were, once, right?” Jean looked to Harry with some confusion. Why would he say something like that?

But by some miracle, Harry had hit his mark. Olivier’s expression grew distant for a moment. “Yes, I was, once. Used to get what I want by shouting and sometimes throwing punches. I mellowed out.”

“When you had your daughter?” Harry wasn’t even looking at Olivier anymore. Jean followed his line of sight to a small, white fridge. It was covered in magnets and photos. In one picture, a younger version of Olivier had his arm slung around a small girl with a weak frame.

“My little girl, she… She taught me what it meant to be gentle.” Olivier sighed. “I taught her to be ferocious when she needed to be, but there were times where I would scare her with how angry I got with others.” For a moment, he looked unspeakably sad. “I’m a better man now because of her.”

“So, you weren’t going to fight the new hire?”

“No, no, nothing like that, officer. I just wanted to know where the fuck he thought he was going with our friend.” He stopped to collect himself. “I’m the manager of the team we had out there, including Paul. I didn’t want the rats getting to him before we’d had a chance to look things over.”

Jean’s eyes widened, and he looked at Harry with a mix of shock and unfettered pride. _All that, just to expose his initial lie._

Harry turned to Jean and threw him a wink before continuing. “What do you mean, look things over?”

“Paul was damn good at his job. He wasn’t prone to making mistakes. Always thorough, checking his gear frequently. I can’t imagine that the fall was because of his own negligence.”

Jean felt a bit useless, watching these two go back and forth. Finally, he spoke up. “So, as the manager, surely you have some information about the new guy, right?”

Olivier nodded. “Yes, I know a few things about him. Name’s Renaud Depardeau. He’s _huge._ Kid’s built like a heavyweight champion. He was never really a bad guy, in the short time we’d known him, but he kept to himself and didn’t really mesh. You know… He didn’t seem to enjoy cutting up with the others. Can’t tell you where he lives, but the boss might know.”

After about an hour, it became clear that Rousseau didn’t have anymore pertinent information to impart. The two stood at the door making their goodbyes, both making it last longer out of reluctance to return to the cold world outside. “Tell your daughter we said hi, Olivier!” Harry offered cheerfully.

“Will do.” He smiled, genuinely. “She lives out in Central Jamrock now, maybe you’ll see her someday.”

“Okay, time to go.” Jean refused to admit that he’d been taking his sweet time putting on his overcoat.

As they reentered the chill air, Harry smirked, looking chuffed. “You were impressed, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw that look you gave me.” The yefreitor was now standing close, almost too close. Jean could barely feel the cold cement wall behind him. “You thought I did a good job, didn’t ya, babe?”

Not one to give in so easily, the satellite-officer rolled his eyes. “It was a smart move, but I could have done it, if I’d been looking at the fridge.”

“Ah, but you _weren’t_.”

“Yes, because normally we look people in the eyes when we talk to them, Harry.”

“You sure you weren’t just too busy getting a load of this?” He flexed his arm playfully, and the two of them sputtered and snickered at once.

“That’s nothing. You wanna see muscle? Wait till we get back to the hotel, and I can get this uniform off—”

It hit Jean too late how those words must have sounded, and he desperately wanted to reel them back into his mouth. He looked at Harry reluctantly.

The big bastard was grinning so hard Jean thought his cheeks would split.

“Well, we should go look at the corpse. You know, the victim. Of this murder case. That we’re here to work on.” Jean held up a hand before Harry could protest. _I refuse to deal with the consequences of what I said right now._

As planned, they worked their way through the labyrinth of too-tall buildings with too little space, eventually coming upon the Sacre-Couer General Hospital. They were lead into the depths of the clinic by a wirey-haired, mousy lady who simply introduced herself as Motts. She guided them to a small room that stank of flesh. Jean noted with some horror that in lieu of a standard mortuary setup, the room was filled with standalone deep freezers.

“Our facility isn’t really equipped for autopsies, or anything. Mostly, around here, people want to bury their dead immediately, get it out of the way and move on. Besides…” Motts pushed up her cat-eye frames. “Maintaining a full morgue is expensive, and we don’t have that kind of funding.”

She stepped to one of the freezers and opened it nonchalantly. Judging by the look on Harry’s face, he expected the dead body would be handled with a little more _gravitas_. Jean shook his head. There wasn’t really any time to stand on ceremony. A team effort had the body out of the freezer and onto a roll-in examining table.

“Cranial fractures congruent with impact from a great height.” Jean spouted out official-sounding jargon for Harry to note down in the preliminary autopsy report. What he had just said translated roughly to ‘this guy’s skull is leaking grey matter like nobody’s business, it’s a miracle his head’s still in one piece.’ Harry nodded dutifully and got to writing.

“Age… approximately mid-forties. Yellow patches under the eyes suggest a life of heavy drinking, as do burst capillaries in the nose and cheeks. It’s…” He broke character for a moment. “It’s a little hard to tell what’s the jaundice and what’s the stages of lividity. Hey, Motts.”

The woman looked up, startled.

“When was the body brought in?”

Motts chewed her lip in thought. “I think it was at around 17:00 the day of.” She paused. “I’ll have to take another look at my notes, though.”

Jean’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I don’t have a photographic memory, now do I?”

“Wait, ma’am, when I said really, what I meant was—”

“Madam, this is important police business.” Harry scoffed. “No need to take a tone.”

Motts looked rather flustered at that. “Well, then, if you gentlemen will excuse me. Please just put the body back when you’re done with it.” She hurried herself out the door, huffing.

Harry rolled his eyes and looked back to Jean, his expression more severe than usual. “What were you saying, then?”

“We got into the Eminent Domain yesterday just before 17:00. The precinct got the call in from Didier at around 15:30. I’m assuming the fall happened sometime before that. They probably were all pulled into a group meeting, then sent home. So… Where the fuck was the body during those couple of hours?” He gestured to the corpse. “Look at the discoloration here. If it had been preserved immediately, it likely wouldn’t be this bad yet.” He paused. “It’s not a guarantee, but with what the receptionist said…”

It was Harry’s turn to look proud. His eyes shone so brightly that it was almost painful to look. “Nice catch, Babe. I think someone at the company has some serious explaining to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the slow burn somehow started burning even slower, now. But, now we're starting to get into the meat of it (haha.)  
> And yes, Olivier is my DiscOC's father, lol. Seemed like it'd be a fun tie-in!


	3. Alibis, and Angles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More information comes to light about the victim, the boss, and the suspects. A visit to a bar reveals a few too many secrets.

Harry and Jean wrapped up the rest of the autopsy in short order – there was nothing to immediately indicate foul play or tampering post-mortem, and they felt it was important to reach the scene before too much time had passed.

On the way out, Jean paused, then turned again to Motts. “Hey, Ma’am. One question. The victim’s affects, his clothes. Where have you got those stored?”

Motts barely looked up from her desk. Clearly she wasn’t in the mood to speak with them anymore. “He didn’t have any.”

“Excuse me?” Jean balked.

“I said he didn’t have any, can you hear? They brought him in and he was already stripped to his underwear.”

Harry looked like he was about to snap at Motts again, but Jean held up a hand. “He didn’t have anything? His tools, his gear, his work uniform?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Jean was incredulous. “That kind of detail is really important, don’t you think? Doesn’t that stand out?”

“How should I know? I’m no mortician.” Motts checked her nails.

“Okay, okay. Thank you for your time, then.” He took Harry by the arm and led them out of the clinic.

“That’s unbelievable, the attitude of that woman, I had half a mind to—”

“Harry.” Jean’s expression was severe. “We have bigger things to focus on now. Like, why the hell did they strip the body before bringing it in?”

“To hide evidence of tampering?”

“For his gear, sure. But his shirt? His shoes? All of it… I can’t make sense of it.”

The walk to the scene of the accident was brief and frigid. Even the meager rays of light cast from around the sides of the 8/81 did little to warm the air around them. Jean grumbled and wiped snowflakes from his lashes and facial hair. The weather was doing little for his mood. _This seasonal shit is bad enough_.

A tall concrete utility pole loomed ahead, cold and ominous, as if aware of the chaos it had inadvertently caused. The snow piled up below. Harry stepped over and started trying to brush away the heaping frost with his foot, then cursed as a big chunk of it slipped into his shoe. “Augh! That’s freezing!”

“Yeah, no shit.” Jean knelt to swipe at it with his hands. Despite their best efforts, the snow was piling on too quickly. “We’ll have to get something to clear this snow with. Maybe a pushbroom…”

“Or a flamethrower?” Harry’s voice was tinged with a bit too much hope.

Jean ignored that. “In the meantime, we should see if anyone’s around to—”

“Good afternoon, gentlemen!” A chipper voice cut through the sobriety of the scene. Approaching them was a man of slightly less than average height, with a green coat thrown over utility overalls and bottle-blond hair. “You must be the officers Thomas called for yesterday. Name’s Dick Vance, I own the Eminent Domain branch of Sunlight Electrical.”

 _This must be the ‘management’ Didier mentioned._ Jean extended his hand to shake, then lowered it awkwardly as Vance ignored it entirely to continue talking.

“I’m sure you two have a lot of questions to ask. I’ve just got out of a meeting myself, so I’d be happy to stick around and answer them.”

Jean watched quietly as Harry sized Vance up. “Name’s Harry Du Bois. Please, though, call me Harry. This is my partner, Jean Vicquemare.”

“Well, then, Harry, Jean.”

“I’d much rather you call me officer.” Jean was feeling in less good humor by the minute, speaking to this man.

“Erm…” Vance pursed his lips uncomfortably. “Then, Harry, Officer. What can I do for you two?”

Harry was poised to pounce from the beginning, and started in strong. “Tell us what you know about what happened yesterday. As much detail as you can remember.”

The owner chewed his lip in thought. _Oral fixation?_ Jean made a mental note.

“Well, I wasn’t actually looking when it first happened. I was over there—” He lifted his hand to point to another pole several meters out, “and I heard a commotion, followed by yelling. When I came to investigate, Depardeau had Archer in his arms, and Rousseau was screaming at him to put the man down, it was a big mess.” He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his tongue in his mouth. “I came to break them up, then put Archer in my company MC to take him to the hospital.”

Jean piped up. “When did the fall happen?”

“A little after 14:00. We’d just wrapped up a smoke break.”

Jean swore he could see the gears in Harry’s head turning. He continued. “At the hospital, they told us that the body didn’t arrive until around 17:00. That’s around three hours after the fall. Why so long?”

Vance reached into his pocket – and Jean tensed on instinct – until the smaller man produced a toothpick, sticking it between his teeth and gnawing mindlessly. “We had a meeting. Had to, I had to get everyone calmed down. Besides…” He ran a finger through his hair and sighed. “We can’t actually clock out before 15:00. For anything. Rules from the main SE honcho, not our branch.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Not even for a murder?”

“My hands are tied, Harry.” Vance fingered at the toothpick. “Either way, once I put Archer in my carriage, it gave out about halfway to the clinic. I had to wait for someone to drive by and give me a jumpstart.”

Jean took over again. “And where abouts would you say the body landed?”

Vance stopped chewing for a moment to think. “Uh, maybe about…” He stepped to the pole, indicating a point with the tip of his boot. “Here?”

Jean looked over to Harry, trying to send a silent signal. _Don’t chase that yet._ Harry met his gaze and nodded before speaking. “One more thing, Dick.” He tried really hard not to smile. “Can you give us the address for Depardeau? The new guy?”

Vance nodded. “Of course. Lemme get my book out of my truck.”

Harry followed him towards the vehicle, peering into the back. A piece of tarp was draped haphazardly inside, covered in a few spots by a mix of fluids. “Also, Dick… The victim wasn’t wearing clothes when he arrived at the hospital. Why is that?”

Vance smiled apologetically. “You got me, detective. Dick’s work uniform… I took it from him. I know it’s wrong, but… We don’t have the funds to keep buying new uniforms, especially considering how big these guys can get. I already washed it, too. It’s ready for circulation.”

Catching up to the two, Jean folded his arms. “That’s incredibly irresponsible of you, Mr. Vance. I understand that times are tough, but from now on, you need to stop tampering with potential evidence.”

Harry nodded. “How about his gear?”

Another sorry expression. “The rope was broken, so I threw it out. Garbage collection came last night or I’d go dig it out of the dumpster. As for the carabiners, and his harness, they’re in the back here.” He popped open the backdoor, digging out the gear and handing it to the pair.

“No helmet?”

Vance shook his head. “Even if he’d been wearing it, it would have cracked. It’s a macho thing, I guess, but my boys rarely wear their headgear.”

Harry took the items as evidence and nodded gratefully. After also collecting the address of Depardeau, the officers and Vance parted ways, for the time being.

They made their way back to the RCM-issue motor carriage to store their evidence. At the vehicle, Jean leaned closer to Harry, speaking quietly. “Thanks for not chasing that, back there.”

Harry nodded. “Absolutely. One question though.” He waited for Jean to look at him. “What was it that you didn’t want me to chase?”

Jean’s brows rose. Harry was so sharp, but sometimes it felt like he would miss details right under his big, red nose. “I’ll tell you later, at the hotel maybe. You wanted to check out the bar before we call it a night?”

Harry nodded. “I swear, I’m not just trying to get drunk. I have a good feeling. But…” He thought about it. “Let’s leave our RCM jackets here. The more we blend in the better.”

“Are you out of your mind? It’s freezing out here!” Jean was loathe to relinquish the only shield he had from the darkening winter evening.

“Relax, it’s only for a little, besides.” Harry smirked. “If you get too cold, I’ll just put my arm around you, eh, babe?”

Jean rolled his eyes hard enough to be painful.

They arrived at the bar, a hole in the wall joint called Everything Goes, with little incident. Jean’s teeth were chattering so badly that his vision was shaky, but he refused to mention it from stubborn pride. Instead, he sidled into the small establishment, securing he and Harry a seat at the bar itself.

A woman in her mid-thirties wearing a fake pearl necklace sauntered over with a lazy smile. “Evening, fellas. Can I get you something?” Harry ordered a rum lemonade, which he seemed partial to. Jean stuck to a beer. _Someone_ needed to keep clearheaded. The bartender returned with the drinks in fair order. “Here. By the way…” her expression warmed in a way half-genuine and half-indicative that she was fishing for tips. “You two are cute together. Good job.”

Harry laughed boisterously. “Thanks, then!”

Jean rolled his eyes. _Clueless as usual, aren’t you?_ Then, a mental note. _Looks like this bar serves the Underground. Maybe it’s relevant…_ Either way, once again, Harry’s intuition had come in handy. No patron at a bar like this would be comfortable interacting with the RCM. 

“Look, look babe, babe!” Harry’s excitement startled Jean out of his thoughts. He felt his stomach sink as he followed Harry’s line of sight to a dingy stage lined with cheap fairy lights, a long, slender microphone rising from downstage.

“Absolutely not.”

“Ow, come on…”

“We’re here to – “ he hesitated. “To work.” He spoke more quietly, keeping his eye on the bartender.

“It’ll loosen them up if we sing.” Harry’s eyes were wide and his lip protruding. Was he seriously pouting?!

“I mean, that’s fair – oh, no no no.” Jean’s brow twitched. “You embarrass yourself onstage all you like, but I’m not going to go up there.”

“Yes you aaaare.” Harry shook Jean by the shoulder. “Just one song, Jean. You and me. Imagine! Disco duo of the century.”

 _This could go on literally for the entire night, as it has before_. Begrudgingly, Jean rose from his stool.

They performed the same song Harry always bullied Jean into singing with him, a deceptively jaunty piece about a man falling in love, only for it to be revealed at the end that the man’s lover was actually drugs. Jean hated it, but it brought Harry no end of joy to sing with him.

Jean wouldn’t admit it, but he liked the way Harry looked at him, eyes shining, when he would chime in during the chorus.

Sitting back at their stools, the bar seemed much livelier, more open. Jean sighed. Harry did know how to get people to open up.

“Nice song, boys.” The bartender clapped her hands together, then pushed her short jet-black hair behind her ear. “You do that together often?”

“You bet.” Harry’s face was flushed from rum, vocal exertion, and cheer. “That’s our go-to.”

“Aw, you guys have a song, that’s sweet.” She washed out a glass. “There’s a guy who comes in often who likes that song too. He sings pretty much every night he comes here. Which is almost every night.” She looked around.

A heaviness filled Jean’s chest. “Oh, yeah, the guy who recommended this bar to us told us about the singing man.” It wasn’t technically a lie. Didier hadn’t mentioned the singing, though. “He sounds like a cool guy. Did he have, you know…” He gestured around the bar vaguely. “A friend?”

“He’s brought his work buddies once or twice, on nights that weren’t so crowded.” She leaned closer, secretive. “I don’t think his work buddies… know. So, you know. Keep it in.”

Jean nodded. Harry seemed a bit lost.

“There was a guy he came in with once, they sat in the corner so I didn’t really get to talk to them, but… They seemed close.”

“Did it look like he had a type?” Jean was desperate for information.

“A type?” She cocked a brow. “Like I said, didn’t serve them, so I didn’t really get a good look at his friend. Muscular? Then again, all of his buddies are, too.”

Jean could tell she was getting uncomfortable and decided to back off before the questioning got too cop-like. He and Harry spent a few more hours and a few more drinks than they ought to have at the bar before returning to their MC for their coats, then the hotel.

If Jean had been freezing on the way to the bar, he was practically made of ice by the time they got to their room. He yanked the blankets from his bed and wrapped himself up, his whole jaw quivering. Harry seemed unbothered in comparison. Jean cursed him internally.

Harry scratched at his stubbly chin with his thumb and forefinger, pacing as much as he could in the narrow room. “Well, shit, now all I’ve got’s more questions.”

“Lay ‘em on me.”

“Alright. I’ll start easy.” He walked the few meters of space he had a couple of times before speaking again. “We have a… plausible story as to why the victim was taken to the hospital so late. Vance could be lying, though. It’s also super fucking weird that he took Archer’s clothes off.” He paused, hemming and hawing. “Then there’s still the question of Depardeau. He acted really bizarre, and way too fast. I feel so certain he has a hand in this, but I need more.”

“We’re going to talk to Depardeau tomorrow. That should shed some light on things.”

“I know, I’m just thoughting at you.”

“You –“ Jean held up a hand. “You’re what.”

“You know! Telling you what’s going on in my brain.”

“The word you’re looking for is thinking.”

Harry acquiesced, then fell silent. Jean sat under the blanket a few more minutes before taking it off, finally feeling warm enough that he could move again.

That seemed to spark a memory in Harry, who suddenly approached with a smarmy grin. “That’s right, Jean, you promised earlier, about getting off that uniform~?”

The volition required to keep Jean’s jaw closed was impressive, but he barely managed. “Harry, I take off my uniform every night. Besides, you’ve… You’ve seen my body before. We’ve done this ‘boarding together’ thing before.”

“Yeah, but it’s been a while since I _really_ got to have a look at it…” The yefreitor sat on the edge of his own bed and watched eagerly.

Jean rolled his eyes once more. “You’re drunk.” He slipped out of his jacket. This was normal. Of course it was. He always undressed before bed. So why was it so hard to do so while Harry was watching him like a hungry animal?

“Already saw that!” Harry crowed, making Jean grit his teeth. “Get that top off, babe!”

“Shut it.” One by one, he undid the buttons of his collared shirt, letting it fall off of his arms casually. Harry clicked his tongue appreciatively.

“Damn, babe, those arms are…” He paused to find the right word. “Defined. Now, the undershirt too, come on, you promised.”

“I didn’t promise shit.” But the undershirt came off, too. Now Harry was _really_ paying attention. He felt the bed, hard as it was, barely shift as Harry moved from the opposite bed to rest a knee beside him, getting a closer look.

“God, Jean, you are banging.”

A ripping cackle like a hyena tore from Jean’s mouth before he could stop it. Despite the sound, it did little to deter Harry, whose thumbs found their way to the dip of Jean’s obliques, stroking along the line.

“Doesn’t it take, like, a whole lot of work to get this? This… vee?” He pressed his thumbs down for emphasis. Jean exhaled, too sharply, covering something up.

In that sound, the moment shattered around them, Harry seeming to realize suddenly what he was doing. His cheeks got redder, somehow, as did Jean’s.

“Well, babe. Thanks for the demonstration.” Harry crept back to his bed before Jean could say anything, likely afraid of getting scolded. “See you in the morning as usual?”

Jean blinked a few times before nodding. “Yeah, in the morning. Make sure you actually wake up this time, or I’ll have to take matters into my own hands again.”

“I kinda hope you will anyway.”

The room darkened suddenly as Jean clicked the lamplight off. He lay in his bed for a long while, once more unable to quiet his racing thoughts. All of them about the hands on his waist just moments prior, and where else he wanted them to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so fun to write, thus it's a bit longer than the others. I just wanted to give so much! Besides, I know y'all were waiting for the hotel scene... ;) Sadly, it has to stay a slow burn, but don't worry! More spice is coming.


	4. Stonewalls, and Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Jean interrogate another suspect, and a new player is introduced.

Hours passed of restless, sporadic sleep. Jean would sink under for a few blissful moments, only to awaken, tossing and turning as he tried to will himself to stay under. At around 3:00, he gave up, laying with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. After a moment, he cut his gaze to the bed beside him, watching his partner sleep off the deep haze of rum. He sighed, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up before carefully moving to the washroom. If he couldn’t sleep, he may as well try to be productive.

He stepped into the pathetically narrow shower stall, hissing as the water ran cold overhead before finally warming up. He stood almost completely still as it rained down onto his scalp, trying to focus on the case, on work. Internally scheduling the day. Ignoring the gnawing feeling in the back of his mind.

After drying off, grumbling at the coarse fabric of the cheap hotel towel, he affixed the cloth around his waist and looked hard in the mirror. The steam fogging the glass nearly obscured his face completely. He could barely make out the deep marks that cut into his cheeks. Before he could do anything else, the doorknob jiggled, then slid to the side as the door opened, cold air rushing into the small room.

Standing before Jean, Harry blinked, surprised somehow. He looked horribly groggy, and was probably hungover. “Babe? Sorry, heard the uh, the shower…”

“Yeah. The shower running means someone’s probably in here.” Jean sighed. “Sorry to wake you up. What time is it?”

“3:45.” Harry’s gaze traced the lines of Jean’s form with interest. It seemed like even through headache and the last remaining tendrils of sleep, the man was incorrigible. Jean cleared his throat, and Harry’s eyes snapped back up, looking almost guilty.

“Let’s get started.” Jean stepped towards the bathroom door. “First thing’s first, we need to talk to Depardeau.”

Depardeau’s apartment building was just as ancient and crumbling as the others they had seen. They had arrived at around 5:30, and now stood waiting at the door after knocking firmly. Jean looked down at his hands, rubbing them together to stave off the cold. Harry opened his mouth, probably about to offer to hold them in his own, when the door creaked.

The man himself must have been at least a full two meters tall. He towered over them, muscle bulk filling the entire doorframe. There was a pause, then his lips parted into a friendly smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth. _His left canine is missing_ , Jean noticed.

“Officers. Good morning. Please, come in.” the hulking man stood to the side, allowing them in. With some trepidation, they entered. Depardeau turned towards a small kitchenette, with barely enough space for two people. “I’m making a pot of tea. You two want a cup?”

“That sounds… very nice. Thank you.” Jean adjusted his tie.

“Please, please, have a seat. The couch is old and more springs than cushion, but it’s better than standing.” The pair sat down. Harry’s eyes darted this way and that, taking in as much information as they could. Jean tried to follow his tracks. It was jarring, how someone who acted so bull-headed could process so much at once.

Depardeau returned with three steaming mugs of earl grey, along with a small jar of honey and some cream in a tiny metal dispenser. The officers fixed their tea as they liked it (a sharp elbow from Jean kept Harry from trying to add anything _harder_ for the time being) and began questioning.

“Well, the day of…” Depardeau thumbed at the edges of his own mug. He held it in two hands, though he surely could have wrapped one of his hands around the whole thing with room to spare. “I was at a different pole a few meters away from Paul, and I was about to start climbing when I heard the fall.” He paused, as if the memory were repulsive. “There was so much blood. I ran over to help him, when our manager grabbed me, yelling and asking me what I thought I was doing. I was trying to tell him that we needed to get Paul to the hospital, but…” A sigh. “Then Mr. Vance came over, got us all to settle down. Made me put Paul in the back of his MC. We had our meeting and then just…” He gestured vaguely. “Sat around, till we were allowed to clock out.”

Harry’s brow twitched. “And you absolutely, under no circumstances, aren’t allowed to clock out early, even for… a murder?”

“Oh, trust me, we all wanted to go, but the boss said he couldn’t let us go. Said it was orders from the top.”

“Did you not challenge him?” Jean spoke for Harry, reading his expression.

“It’s not really my place to… I’m sure you’ve been told, but I’ve only been on the job for a week or so now.” Renaud sighed again. “Our manager, Mr. Rousseau, he did say something, but he got shot down on that one.” 

Now it was Harry’s turn again. “What did you do before you came to work for Vance?”

“Well, I actually worked at the main branch of Sunlight Electrical, they’re located in Central.”

Jean spoke up again, the two juggling Depardeau between them. “And why did you leave?”

Depardeau licked the back of his own teeth. “I was laid off, actually. They had to let go of somebody, and since the commute from the Eminent Domain is so long, I was chosen.”

A squint from Harry. “Okay, I get that. One more thing. Did you happen to know the victim before you started working at the Eminent Domain branch?”

“No.” Depardeau’s face was stony, betraying nothing. “I didn’t.”

Jean glanced at Harry for any hint of anything. Confirmation, doubt. What he found was a man, eyes widened as if in shock, with a million questions dancing on his lips but not quite surfacing. Jean knew that look. They’d reached a dead end.

“Well, Depardeau. Thank you for your time so early in the morning. My partner and I are going to revisit some places, get more information.” Jean rose, urging Harry to follow.

Outside of Depardeau’s apartment, Harry groaned in frustration. “He’s lying! About not knowing the victim. He absolutely must have. I know it, Jean, I can _feel_ it, you know I can –“

Jean rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders, trying to ground him. When Harry got agitated, it could be hard to bring him back down. “I believe you. Your instinct is usually on target. I’m not saying he’s not lying, but for now we should focus on bringing to light something that will make him tell us the truth.”

A gulp, and then Harry nodded. “You’re right.” He paused. “Nice guy though.”

“Anything in his apartment stand out to you?”

“Well… Other than that it was _really funny_ to watch such a big man using such tiny utensils, his room didn’t really say much about him, which is… troubling in its own right.” Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Like he’s hiding something about himself.”

“Maybe he is, or maybe he’s just too poor to afford a lot of personal effects.” Jean sighed. “Where do you think we should go next?”

“Actually… let’s go back to the morgue.” Harry seemed determined, suddenly. “I got some questions for Archer.” The victim’s name set off a thought in Jean’s mind, but he let it be. He could bring it up later.

Back in the morgue, the pair dragged the body once more from its chilly confines, resting it on the table. Jean checked the arms and legs, looking over the entire back, noting the different points of impact. Harry stood in front of the victim’s face before resting a hand on the cadaver’s head, fingertips gently scratching the scalp.

It wasn’t the first time Harry had done this with a victim, but it sent sickly, unpleasant chills down Jean’s spine every time. Communing with the dead… He bit his tongue to avoid grumbling something about bringing supplies for a séance next time.

He paced back and forth in the small room, grateful that Motts hadn’t followed them. The last thing he needed was Harry getting angry, getting violent. He thought back briefly to an earlier case in which Harry’s temper had cost them dearly, and landed them both in Pryce’s office for a hellish reprimanding. How could one man be both frustratingly patient and dangerously short-fused?

“Jean…” This must have been serious. Harry was calling him by name. “Paul, he’s told me that he knows Depardeau well. That Depardeau’s favorite song is this piece called ‘Fin de Siecle.’ Do you know it?”

Jean thought about it. “I’ve heard it before. It’s… sad. It’s about expecting a better future while remaining mired in the mistakes and agonies of the past.”

“Sounds like you’ve more than just heard of it, Jean.”

“Well, it’s a nice song.” Jean felt almost defensive.

“Can you sing some of it?” Harry tilted his head.

“I don’t really want to.”

“C’mon. It’s for the case.” Harry’s eyes held a warm sparkle even under the garish fluorescent lighting of the makeshift morgue.

Jean rolled his eyes.

“ _Apres la vie, my life in a cage_

_To this time, je ne veux pas retourner_

_Un nouveau monde, with my own hands_

_I’ll craft for you, mon coeur.”_

Under Harry’s intense gaze, Jean sputtered there, giving up. “Look, it’s what I said it is, okay? It’s a bunch of gratuitous code-switching over saccharine chords that adds up to the same shit that every love song in the world does.” He desperately tried to avoid making eye contact.

“Well, it’s very sweet. I can see why you like it.” Harry seemed smug, which Jean hated. “But why that song specifically? I wonder.” He nudged his shoulder against Jean’s. “Maybe if we go back to the bar, and you sing that, someone will remember something about the victim. Or about Depardeau.”

“Over my cold, dead body.” Jean groaned. “I think we should try to get in contact with the main branch of Sunlight Electrical. They might be able to tell us more about our suspect.”

For once, Jean’s prayers had been answered, and Motts remained silent as they left the hospital, heading now to the headquarters of the Eminent Domain branch of Sunlight Electrical. A friendly, bubbly receptionist gave them the number they needed to contact the main company. “Our phone is right over there, sir. Feel free to use it as much as you like.” The receptionist then returned to his desk, musing over the daily crossword.

Jean took the phone, balancing a notepad on his knee to write down anything relevant. Over the line, static hissed for a few long moments, then a calm, drawling voice crackled into life. “Sunlight Electrical, this is Annalise Morton. How can I help you?” The woman’s tone was dripping with confidence and customer service know-how.

“Yes, I need to speak with the head of the SE main branch.”

“Speaking.” Jean could hear the smile on the other line.

“Madame, I’m Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare with the RCM, we’re currently investigating a workplace death at the Eminent Domain branch, and we’d like to ask a few questions regarding an employee.”

“Who?” An inhale. It sounded like she was smoking.

“Renaud Depardeau. He told us he used to work for your branch.”

“Depardeau…” She exhaled. “Yes, I remember. I was the one to let him go. Sad story, that. He was excellent at his job.”

“Why did you let him go, then?” Jean chewed his bottom lip.

“Hm? Well, he was good at his job, like I said, but you know. He would get handsy with female employees. And just with women in general. Not a good look, you know? So we let him go.”

Jean looked over to Harry, a triumphant shine in his eye. _It’s not a huge discrepancy, but it’s something to go on._ “I see. A few more questions. Did you know that the Eminent Domain branch hired him?”

“I did, but it doesn’t make me too upset. After all, so long as he’s out of Central Jamrock and away from the employees under my wing, I’m satisfied.”

“One more thing. The policy that people can’t leave work before a certain time. Was this your idea?”

There was a pause, and the sound of someone putting out a cigarette. “Yes and no. The labor unions negotiated a pay raise, but many companies couldn’t afford it. As a compromise, the raises were granted under the condition that employees are contractually obligated to remain at work under any and all circumstances.”

“Even death.”

“Yes, Officer.” The voice showed no signs of joy, nor any signs of remorse.

“Well, Madame, thank you for your time. We’ll call back should anything come up.” 

A click on the other side, then silence. Jean returned the phone to the hook and looked to Harry, almost giddy. “Come on. Let’s go back and have another talk with Depardeau.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It both feels like this chapter went nowhere and is also very important, lmao. 
> 
> I really wish I had kept up with French Studies! I remember so little of what I used to know. 
> 
> I'm sure I have more to say but its not coming to me right now. Spent too much brainpower on writing tonight.


	5. Epiphany, and Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Jean reveal an important truth about Renaud Depardeau. Jean learns more about himself.

The detectives returned to Depardeau’s apartment as the sun began to sink, casting long shadows from the ever-looming presence of the 8/81 overhead. Harry knocked on the door almost feverishly. A very startled Depardeau opened the door. “Welcome back, officers. Please, come in.”

They’d caught the big electrician in the midst of preparing dinner, and he insisted on making enough for three. Jean nodded. At the very least, perhaps if his hands were busy, he might be distracted, more likely to slip up.

Harry started in heavy. “So, we called Morton. Your old boss?”

_There!_ Anyone would have been able to see the widening of eyes and tensing of muscles as Depardeau attempted to maintain control of himself. “Oh, you did…?”

Jean stepped in. “She says that she let you go for workplace sexual harassment. That’s a very serious charge, you know. She said you’d been, khm. ‘Grabbing the women.’”

There was a pause. “Is that what she told you?” He shook his head, looking almost woeful. “I know it’s my word against hers, but I assure you, that isn’t what she told me the day she sent me home.”

“So what did she say?”

“The same thing I told you.” He flipped something in a frying pan. “They had to lay someone off… They chose me.”

Jean could see Harry’s jaw shift as he grit his teeth. So close… The two sat down on the couch again. Regrouping.

Harry leaned in a little too close, craning his neck to whisper low against Jean’s shoulder. “Fin de Siecle.”

Every nerve in Jean’s body seemed to light up en masse. He gripped his fists to ignore it. “What?”

“The song. Start singing it. Just a little bit. Like you’re just waiting, biding time.”

Now, Jean could see where Harry was trying to go with this, and he nodded. Harry leaned back to a normal seating position, giving Jean some much-needed breathing room after that harrowing moment. Casually, normally as he could muster, Jean sang the opening bars of ”Fin de Siecle.”

_Un champ de fleurs, dancing daisies,_

_Their petals dull, beauté fragile_

_Où es-tu, I search for you_

_Endlessly, dans ce monde sale—_

Jean was jarred out of his quiet serenade by the sound of something clattering in the kitchen. Depardeau stood with his arms outstretched where he’d just been holding a bowl, his strikingly light eyes rimmed with tears.

“That’s your favorite song, isn’t it, Depardeau?” Harry didn’t seem as happy as Jean would have expected.

“It’s… It’s one of the songs I like the most, or, it was, but…” He shuddered, trying to compose himself.

Jean rose to his feet and spoke calmly, softly. “I noticed something. You said you didn’t know anyone on your team well, but when we first spoke, you called the victim by his first name. Why is that?”

Depardeau chewed his lip for a moment before sighing and giving in. “Alright. I have no choice, do I? I’ll tell you everything.”

“Good. Please, start with your relationship to the victim. What was it, really?”

Depardeau looked down at where the bowl had fallen, its contents strewn pathetically across the floor. “I met Paul about a year ago, at a local bar.” Jean made a mental note as Depardeau continued. “We.. clicked, somehow. He was outgoing, and easy to talk to, and it helped me loosen up, feel more comfortable being myself.”

“Something you struggle with often?” Jean gestured around them. “You don’t have a lot of personal effects out here.”

“Well, yes, that too, but I didn’t want anyone…” He took a shaky breath. “I didn’t want anyone to figure me out. Not after I got let go.”

“So, when Morton fired you, it was actually because…”

“Yes.” Depardeau’s brows furrowed. “She fired me because of my connections to the Underground. Said she didn’t need someone like that representing her branch of the company.”

Harry finally spoke up. “But she said she knows you work for the Eminent Domain branch now.”

Depardeau only shrugged. “Like I said. She really only seems to care about optics. So long as I’m out here, and not visible to her customers, she doesn’t seem to care what I do. Or who I work for.” He smiled, bitterly. “Silver linings.”

Harry seemed so grateful to be able to ask the question that had been burning in his mouth. “So, on the day of the incident. You rushed to Archer, quickly, because…”

“I was desperate.” Depardeau admitted. “I didn’t want to believe that he could have… I thought maybe I could save him, if I got to him in time, got him to a hospital in time.” His eyes seemed weary. He’d clearly played the moment over and over in his head a lot since then.

Jean felt rather guilty suddenly. He stepped into the tiny kitchenette, kneeling to help Depardeau clean up. The man began to protest, but Jean stopped him. “It’s my fault you dropped it, just let me help.”

Together, they picked up the mess, and fairly soon, dinner was on the table. They sat around eating, trying to talk about the case while preserving their appetites.

“So, you must have cared a lot about the vi- Paul. About Paul.” Harry winced a little as he slipped up.

Depardeau looked amused. “Very much so, I’d say. He was a good man. Crass, sure, but most people are at least a little rough around the edges around here. Keeps them safe.”

“Did you two go to that bar often?” Jean followed up.

“Well, Paul did. I don’t do well in scenes like that. Too many people, and when too many people and alcohol mix, it usually gets ugly at some point.” He pointed to his mouth, gap in his teeth gleaming red. “This actually happened during a barfight closer to Villalobos. Some hotshot with something to prove saw a big guy and thought it’d be a chance to show off.” He shook his head. “I knocked his lights out, but I didn’t enjoy it. I don’t go to bars that much.”

“But you did go once or twice.”

“Yes, once or twice. Paul really liked the place, it was important to him. He sang ‘Fin de Siecle’ for me, there. He really did love singing.” He sighed, shaking his head.

Harry chimed in again. “Was there anything that Paul told you about himself that might have led to him being targeted?”

Depardeau thought about it for a while. “I know he was engaged once, but broke it off. He didn’t like to talk about his past a lot, and I respected that.”

“That’s helpful, thank you.” Jean’s tone was sincere. “We’ve probably bothered you enough for one day. We can pick this back up another time.” He rose, carefully. Harry joined him.

“Thank you, both of you. Um…” Depardeau swallowed. “This is going to sound selfish, but can you maybe not tell the others about what I’ve told you here? About… you know.”

Jean nodded. “I won’t say a word of it.” He couldn’t promise that Harry wouldn’t. Harry had a bad habit of slipping up, whether accidentally or on purpose. It helped them solve cases, sure, but left a path of destruction in their wake.

Back in the world again, the snowstorm only seemed to grow stronger. Jean wrapped his jacket more tightly around himself. “Lovely fuckin’ weather we got.”

Harry seemed to be doing just fine. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Snow. Makes everything feel so…” He hunted for the correct analogy. “I dunno. It’s soothing, though.” He grinned, suddenly. “And it makes you look years older, settling on your head like that.” He reached out, using his palm to brush away the flakes collecting in Jean’s hair.

Jean swatted Harry’s hand away, more playfully than he had intended. “So, what’s next? Regroup, go over what we know?”

“Yes.” Harry paused. “Can we do it at the bar?”

“Harry…”

“It’s not just for drinking!” He spoke a bit too quickly, trying to justify himself. “If we go, we might be able to talk to more people who knew Paul, maybe even someone who knew about his engagement?”

The satellite-officer paused before sighing. “You have a good point. Alright. But let’s at least try to keep ‘boozing it up’ to a minimum.”

“Just a few.”

“Good.”

It was not just a few, nor was it good. It wasn’t _bad_ , per se, but as usual, Harry’s magnetic personality and starry-eyed pleas had weakened Jean enough to overindulge him, again. He felt particularly warm, the absence of his RCM jacket not enough to combat the glowing heat of what he’d drank. He unclasped the first few buttons of his shirt for any scant relief.

Just as the man thrived even in the cold, Harry seemed to be perfectly fine with the heat, downing half his own drink in one go and turning to talk to someone near them. “So then, I said, ‘The hell you think you’re doing in the dumpster?’ and the guy says ‘Well, not dealin’ with your shit, that’s for sure!’” He cackled, in the middle of some story, then suddenly gasped, as if he’d remembered something. “Babe! That’s right, I need you to sing up on stage tonight.” He gave Jean a sincere, pleading look, with a pout thrown in for good measure. “It’s for the case… if someone recognizes it, it’ll really help!”

Sober Jean would have never agreed to go sing by himself, but sober Jean wasn’t around at the moment. Tipsy Jean made a show of sighing and shaking his head before trudging towards the stage and performing his best rendition of ”Fin de Siecle.” Did he get a bit too into it? Yes. Did the corners of his eyes line with tears as he sang? Absolutely. All in all, he genuinely enjoyed himself, but nothing of it was quite so enjoyable as the welcome he got when he returned to his seat.

“God _damn_ , babe, that was amazing!” Harry slung an arm around Jean, grinning from ear to ear. “You and I, babe, we oughta go on tour or somethin’!”

Through a giddy haze, Jean heard someone murmur. “Oh yeah, that song. Paulie used to sing that a lot.” He sat upright suddenly, head turning in that direction.

“Paulie?”

“Yeah.” Two young women sat hip-to-hip at a table nearby. The one talking fingered her long, curly hair as she continued. “Paulie comes in here all the time. He sings that song, and others… But he really gets into it when he sings that one.” She smiled, quirking a brow. “Kinda like you did.” Her friend laughed. It was teasing, not mocking.

“We heard a bit about Paulie – khm.” Jean started again. “About Paul, from his friend. He said Paul used to be engaged?”

The other woman laced her arm through her friend’s, leaning against her shoulder. _No, friends isn’t necessarily accurate._ “Yeah, Paulie used to be engaged to this woman out in High Couron. But… I guess he realized it wasn’t working.”

“Do you know who his fiancée was?”

“I don’t remember.” She frowned. “I’ll let you know if I do, though.”

“Thanks.” Jean nodded. “I think we’d better call it a night.”

The walk back to the hotel was even more difficult this time, the snow piled over their ankles as they trudged. In the room, Jean all but ripped his socks off, tossing them aside. “Useless piles of wool… my damn toes are gonna freeze off.” He looked at his hands. “These too.”

“Poor baaaabe~” Harry grinned, wrapping his big hands around Jean’s. “Oh, shit, you’re right. Your hands are like ice.”

“Told you.” Jean tried to convince himself that the heat in his cheeks was just the alcohol. He moved to undress, then sat on his bed, sighing. “This is our third night out here… I feel like we’re so close. We’ve almost got it.” He laid back to look at the ceiling. “Maybe if we can find out more about this fiancée.”

His view of the ceiling was abruptly obscured by Harry leaning over him. Harry’s hands found their way to his waist, once again thumbing over the line of his obliques, fingertips ghosting across his abdomen. Jean felt his heart skip a beat, and a sigh got away from him before he could stop it. It felt so _good._

“Babe, you’re damn near irresistible, you know that?” Harry leaned close, their faces nearly touching. The scent of whiskey and whatever the hell else he’d had to drink hung on his breath, hot against Jean’s jaw. Jean almost _wanted_ Harry to close the gap.

Jean’s hands found their way to the front of Harry’s shirt, gripping at the fabric, guiding him to press closer. There was something intoxicating about the feeling of Harry’s weight against him. “Harry… _Fuck_. This is…” His breath came out in a shudder.

Harry only seemed spurred on, hands now gripping at Jean’s hips as he leaned in close, finally, mercifully pressing their lips together. Jean felt electricity shoot its way up his spinal column, back arching involuntarily as his nerves caught fire. Harry tilted his head, locking lips, deepening the kiss as Jean barely brushed his tongue against Harry’s mouth…

Suddenly, Jean pulled back. “Harry… Harry, you’re drunk. Go to bed.”

The yefreitor’s jaw dropped so fast that Jean could hear the joint pop. “Whuh?!”

“Just… Go to bed. You’re drunk, I don’t want you doing something you regret. Sleep off the alcohol, we can talk about this later.”

“Jean, babe, This is good. I want this.”

“Harry…” Jean couldn’t maintain eye contact anymore. “Please. Just for now. Go to bed…”

Harry pouted, seeming a bit frustrated, but gave in, lumbering to his own bed and plopping down. Jean felt a bit sorry for him, and nestled against his own blankets, biting his lip and keeping his back turned.

_I don’t think I’d be able to take it if he ended up regretting it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY some spice. It's still building up, but don't worry. The best is yet to come. 
> 
> I'm glad to have more information about Renaud on the table. I'm very much looking forward to the climax of all this.


	6. Meddling, and Metal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Jean go on an impromptu stealth mission that ends abruptly.

This night was even more restless than the last. Jean struggled to sleep, only for it to evade him, throughout the dragging hours of darkness, until he finally gave up, sitting up and resting his face in his hands. Silently, he rose, gathering his clothes together from where they’d been strewn about. He paused, then grabbed Harry’s for good measure. Three days without a change of outfit was a bad look for an RCM officer. He padded over to the shower stall once more, running the water and letting it sink into the assortment of fabric. Without a proper laundering, tacky motel soap would have to suffice. Once he was semi-satisfied with the result, he wrung the clothes to the best of his ability before pacing back to hang them on the curtain rod, dangling over the heating unit. They’d at least be dry-ish by the time morning came.

He sat back down on the edge of his bed, stillness once again allowing invasive thoughts to cloud his mind. _What are you thinking? He doesn’t want you, he wants her. You’re not her, you’re just a warm body and he’s desperate, drunk._ He squinted his eyes shut, balling his fists against his ears as if that would quiet the intruding voices. _How could you possibly think you’re his type? You should have stopped him sooner, but you just couldn’t let go of that moment, could you?_

Jean dropped back down against the bed, feeling himself quite unable to sit back upright.

The alarm’s high tone came a few hours later, shrill and shrieking, but Jean was grateful for it. He sat up, grabbing his slightly damp outfit from the curtain rod and suiting up. He glanced over at Harry and blinked in surprise. The man had been peeking at him with one eye open. Upon being noticed, Harry seemed a bit shocked himself, and quickly turned around as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. 

Jean tossed Harry’s clothes to him, and the big man grumbled in response. “Why are they wet?”

“Washed them. We can’t go around in shit that hasn’t been cleaned in three days.” He paused. “I can’t, anyway, and I refuse to let you.”

He expected Harry to be irritated. The other man chuckled, instead. “How absolutely _domestic_ of you, babe.”

Jean rolled his eyes, disguising the pain that crackled through his chest. “Right. Sure. Anyway, we should call in to the station today, give them a progress report. They probably didn’t expect us to be gone this long.”

This time, Harry groaned. “Oh good. God knows, I’ve been needing to be tossed back and forth between our resident clowns again.” He got dressed himself, slowly, whining about the cold. _Now_ it seemed to bother him.

On the way to the motor carriage, they encountered a familiar face. It was one of the young women from the bar, the girl with long, curly hair. Her too-small jacket revealed flashes of the rich tones of her wrists. “Oh, it’s you two…” She paused, then looked a bit disappointed. “You’re with the RCM…”

“Don’t worry, miss. We weren’t trying any sort of foul behavior at the bar.” He sighed. “We’re investigating a workplace death.”

Realization dawned in the young woman’s eyes, then a great sadness overcame her expression. “Don’t tell me…”

“I’m sorry.” Jean’s own face was grim. “We’re investigating the death of Mr. Paul Archer.”

“Oh, Paulie…” She tugged the hem of her coat.

“That’s why we asked you about him and his fiancée.” Harry’s tone was soft, soothing. He was shockingly good with helping civilians through trauma.

“Oh… I did remember, by the way. His fiancee’s name. He mentioned her one night after he’d had too much.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It was Esther. Esther Morton.”

Harry and Jean exchanged a look.

“Thank you, ma’am. That’s very helpful.” Jean pursed his lips. “We’re going to see to it that whatever happened to Paul is brought to light. You have our word.”

The woman’s eyes shone with genuine gratitude. “I hope to god you do.”

At the MC, Harry grabbed the radio with no small amount of excitement. “It’s her…” He murmured under his breath. “That Morton, oh, she’s in for it…”

On the other end of the line, static shifted over to the voice of an older man. “Precinct 41. This is Jules Pidieu.”

“Oldboy!” Harry exclaimed, eagerly. “Been a while. It’s us.”

A shifting sound of papers. “Officers Du Bois and Vicquemare? Good to hear from you.”

In the background, Mack’s voice cut through the static. “Oh shit! It’s Sober Boy and Hothead!” Chester’s snickering was equally audible.

Then, an exasperated sigh. Judit spoke in a measured, calm tone. “Is now really the time? They’ve been out for three days, now. It must be serious.”

Jean leaned in, side pressed against Harry’s as he set out to put an end to the chatter. “10-1, Jules. Too much buffoonery in the background.”

Silence on the other end. There was a gentle elation in Jules’ voice as he spoke again, clearly relieved that things settled down. “What do you need to report, Satellite-Officer?”

“We need to request a background check. Please get as much information as you can find on a Miss Esther Morton.” He paused. “And if possible, Annalise Morton, as well.”

“10-4. That’s Misses Esther and Annalise, same last name, Morton.”

“Yep.”

There was a pleasant sound of pen scratching against paper. “Alright. Do you need to request anything else?”

Harry inhaled. “Can you explain somethin’ to me, Jules?”

“I can certainly try. What seems to be the issue, sir?”

“There’s something I don’t understand.” Harry scratched his head, even if Jules couldn’t see it. “Ya see, last night, me and Jean were in our hotel, and we—mmghgmgmhm?!”

“Disregard that last statement.” Jean hissed, hands gripping at Harry’s mouth to shut it. “Lieutenant Yefreitor Du Bois is confusing personal matters with work matters again. We’re ending the transmission.”

“Yes, sir—” A click interrupted Jules’ confusion as Jean’s hand darted out to cut power to the radio.

“Jean!” Harry huffed, rubbing his face. “Why’d you stop me, I had important questions!”

“Yes, and we’ll discuss that in due time. Now is not the time.” Jean jerked his head in the direction of Sunlight Electrical. “Right now, we have a case to solve. Let’s head back to the offices, try to get an audience with Vance.”

“I’m sorry, sirs.” The same bubbly receptionist was in again, this time literally chewing a piece of bubblegum. He flicked his hair to the side. “Mr. Vance isn’t in right now, he’s attending a meeting with the owner of the Industrial Harbour branch.” He took down a note. “If you’d like, I can set you two up outside his office till he gets back. It might take a while, but there’s a coffee machine, and I think some leftover pastries.”

So, the pair sat for a while, sipping admittedly better coffee than they had expected. Jean nibbled half-heartedly on a croissant and looked at Harry, who on his second cruller. Once he’d finished it, he looked at the door. “You know… I don’t feel like waiting.” He rose to open it, only to find it locked. He paused, then fished around in his pocket before producing a couple of bobby pins.

“Why do you have those.” Jean couldn’t even bring himself to intonate the statement as a question. “Where have you been breaking into.”

“My own damn house, don’t worry.” Harry shook his head. “After all the times I’ve forgotten my keys, it seemed like a good skill to learn.” He knelt, fidgeting with the lock while Jean kept a watchful eye on the hallway, monitoring the receptionist, who was engrossed in a “Man from Hjelmdall” novel.

After a few moments, Harry had the door open, and he held it open, looking smug. They slipped in quickly.

“Act fast, okay?” Jean glanced about nervously. “We don’t know when he’ll get back. I’ll keep at the door, you search.”

“Roger.” Harry hurried to Vance’s desk. From there, he seemed to enter a strange sort of trance, in which he and the desk were the only things in the room. Drawers opened and shut, cabinet doors swung to the side and back.

Jean watched on with a brow raised. Watching Harry at work was so fascinating. Like a man possessed, or receiving some sort of divine message. His eyes slowly scanned the room. For such a poor neighborhood, this office in particular was quite high-end, with a plush office chair and a desk made out of what seemed to be cherry wood. Had Harry not been busy, he probably would have said something impassioned about the disparity between the chairs and the working class. Jean bit back a smile at the thought.

“This…” Harry broke the silence, holding a piece of paper in his hands. He was half-concealed by the body of the desk. “It’s notes. Seems like our boy is forgetful.”

Jean turned his attention to Harry. “What’s it say?”

“’Hire RD from M.’” Harry read. “Then ‘For Tues. Throw gear out asap. Call M.’ Then a more recent one. ‘Tell M about RCM.’”

Jean’s eyes lit up. That was pretty promising.

Before he could speak, he felt the door move behind him, and something cold pressed to the back of his scalp. “Don’t move a fucking muscle.”

Harry sat up quickly, then froze, eyes wide, staring behind Jean. Jean couldn’t turn his head to look, but the timbre of the voice was immediately recognizable. As small and unassuming as Vance had been, Jean was decidedly more nervous about the man now that he had a gun to his head. The owner’s free hand darted out to grapple Jean’s wrist, a further motion of control. “Shit.” Jean hissed breathlessly.

The yefreitor’s hand slipped towards his pistol. Vance gripped at Jean’s arm and slid the gun until the barrel was against his temple, instead. Making it a more visible threat. “Don’t fucking move, I said! Don’t you think about going for your gun.” Harry grit and bared his teeth, but lowered his hand. Beneath the heavy shadows and sunken skin, Harry’s eyes burned with a hitherto unseen fury.

“That’s right, officer. Just lift your arms behind your head.” Vance nodded as Harry complied. “Now, any funny moves, and I’m blowing your partner’s brains right out of his skull.” He dug the muzzle against Jean’s temple for emphasis. Jean did his best to remain still.

“Just like you did to Archer?” Harry’s tone was more than accusatory. Wrath seeped into his vocal cords, demanding attention and satisfaction.

“I didn’t shoot Archer.” Vance’s gun hand trembled. _He’s never shot a man in his life._ “Archer fell. The only similarity is the brains everywhere.”

“Why are you doing this?” Jean tried his best to cut his eyes towards Vance. “Are you covering up for someone, for Morton?”

“Why the hell would I tell you anything?”

“Well, you’re gonna kill us anyway, right?” Harry narrowed his eyes. “What’s the harm?”

“I don’t want to kill you guys… I just need you to pack up and go home.” Vance sighed. “That ain’t gonna happen, though, is it?” His finger twitched against the trigger. Jean couldn’t disguise the way he jolted at the sound of the metal barely clicking.

“You pull that trigger, Vance, and it’ll be the last thing you do. I’m not fucking around.” Harry’s tone was uncharacteristically heavy.

“You really think you can threaten me, here?” A sort of strained laugh. Vance was seriously nervous. Too nervous to hear anything from behind.

Jean heard the heavy impact of skin on skin and ducked, quickly, hands up to his sides, guarding. Vance’s gun misfired, bullet whipping just overhead, singeing the air before burrowing into the near wall. Vance dropped to the ground, the team manager behind him, fists up and ready.

“Officers.” Olivier looked at the both of them. “The receptionist got scared by Vance’s demeanor and the sounds he heard and came to get me, and just in time, it seems. I…” He looked at Vance, a mix of regret and thrill in his eyes. “I’ve been really hoping for a reason to do that.”

Harry was at Jean’s side in an instant, but Jean was already back in action, knee pressed into Vance’s back and cuffing his wrists behind him. He dug his knee in a little too deep before rising with the captured man. “We need to take him to the MC, call in to the precinct again to have them come get him.”

“I ain’t done with him.” Harry growled.

Once again at the carriage, Harry pushed Vance back against the south wall of the alleyway. “Tell us what you know. Everything.”

“Or you’ll what?” Vance’s eyes were foggy. He wasn’t concussed, by some miracle, but Olivier had really landed quite the blow. “You’re already gonna put me away for holding a gun at you.”

“Oh believe me, I wanna put you away in a fucking morgue.”

Jean put a hand on Harry’s arm. The man barely noticed.

“Look, Morton didn’t tell me everything. All she said was that she wanted me to hire Depardeau.”

“Then what about the other message? About throwing the gear out on Tuesday?”

“Listen, I didn’t mess with the gear, I don’t know who did! All I know is that she wanted it thrown out.” Vance trembled.

Jean murmured. “I don’t think Morton would have done it herself, too risky. There’s at least one more player.”

“And the clothes?” Harry narrowed his eyes.

“I was telling you the truth. I had to get the uniform ready for the next new hire.”

It was clear that they wouldn’t get anything else out of Vance like this. Jean called the station once more, asking for someone to come collect the suspect.

“At once, sir.” There was a creak of the desk as Jules leaned closer to the mic. “Are you alright, Satellite-Officer? You sound rather… distressed.”

“I’m fine.”

Jean hung up again as Harry threw Vance into the holding pen of the MC. He walked a few paces before slumping, resting his entire weight on the wall.

“Jean!” Harry hadn’t sounded so serious in such a long time.

“I’m good. I just need a minute.” He waved a hand half-assedly, lacking the energy to do anything more. God, he needed some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went places I didn't expect it to! Hopefully you all find it as exciting to read as I found it to write. 
> 
> What this chapter lacks in spice, it makes up for in proof of devotion.


	7. Loose Ends, and Lent Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean has a moment of self-doubt as he and Harry begin chasing the threads of the case.

“Jean, I don’t think you’re good.”

Harry was approaching carefully, hands outstretched. Jean waved his hand again. “Just… Just give me a minute.” It felt like his knees were ready to buckle. Carefully, he lowered onto his haunches, before giving up completely and sitting down in the snow, trying to ignore the chill that began to spread up his body. All the adrenaline from earlier had completely subsided, and the lack of sleep was catching up to him. Add the cold seeping into his skin on top of that, and the million thoughts racing through his head, and he was trembling visibly, hand still against the wall to ground him.

Then, he felt a lot warmer. Harry had gathered him up and pulled him against himself. Briefly, Jean tensed. “You’re shaking so bad, Jean…” Harry was incredibly warm-bodied. After a moment, Jean gave in to temptation, letting his head drop against Harry’s shoulder and closing his eyes.

“Fucking shit…” He hissed through his teeth. “I knew Vance was a part of this. I thought I had it all figured out…” A dry, bitter smile curled his lips. “Thought I’d figured it out as good as you. When he told us where the body had fallen, I really thought I’d caught him. He hadn’t been around to see the body fall, right?” He scoffed. “Of course he would have known anyway, there would have been blood and gore. I thought I’d fucking figured it out…”

“What are you…?” Harry’s brows furrowed, confused.

“The first day we interviewed Vance, when I asked him where the body had landed. Depardeau had already taken him away, so I thought…” A moment of frustration, and a remorseful expression came over Jean’s face. “I thought I’d had one of those a-ha moments… the ones you seem to get so easy…” _At the end of the day, no matter how hard you stick to the books, you’re just a satellite. He’s the one doing the real work._ “I’m no can opener, and I’m no Dick Mullen. I don’t know how you do what you do, but I can’t do the same.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short.” Harry rubbed Jean’s back. “You’re the one who figured out the time discrepancy.”

“Didn’t go anywhere, did it?”

“Not yet. It might still be relevant.” Harry continued. “And, you’re the reason we got all that good information at the bar. You’re the one who knew that song, so we could use it to get Depardeau to talk.”

Jean snorted. Despite himself, a small, tired smile appeared, replacing the self-deprecating look he had worn just moments ago. “This is weird. It’s not often that I’m the one who needs to be reassured.”

“I Kind of like the change.” Harry admitted. “It feels good knowing I can actually help you.”

A sharp sting pierced Jean’s heart. “You help a lot more than you think.”

“More than you let on. It wouldn’t kill you to tell me more often, would it?” Harry’s tone was gentle.

“I guess not.”

After a few more minutes spent holding on to each other and decompressing, Jean’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got an idea.” He pulled himself back, then stood quickly. Blinking the stars out of his vision, he hurried back to the MC.

Harry watched over his shoulder curiously. “What is it?”

“We’re gonna catch ourselves a spider, Harry.” He leaned in to the mouthpiece. “Jules? Hey, I have another request.”

“What can I do for you, officer?” Jules still sounded vaguely concerned about Jean’s wellbeing.

“How many MCs are available for dispatch?” 

“Well, sir. We’ve sent Officer Minot and her partner to collect the man you’ve arrested. We only have one vehicle at the ready, and only… Well, perhaps I oughtn’t say who would have to man it, for your blood pressure. If it’s a bigger situation, I can request aid from another station.” He sounded hesitant, understandably.

“Sorry, Jules. I think we’ll need the extra help. Send whomever is ready to the main branch of Sunlight Electrical.” There was another moment of reluctance. “Trust me. One of our main suspects is there, and she’s a flight risk. There’s no telling if she’s armed. One of her lackeys was.”

At the end of the call, he turned to Harry with fire in his eyes. “Let’s get to a payphone and tell Morton about Vance.”

It didn’t take long for them to find a dingy phone standing solitary in the bleak landscape. Jean punched in the number they’d learned from the receptionist and waited. Surely enough, the same sultry, overly friendly voice came over the line. “Sunlight Electrical, this is Annalise Morton.”

“Morton. It’s Officer Vicquemare, again.” Jean grinned against the receiver. “So, was it your idea to have Vance come point a gun at us, or did he make that decision on his own?”

There was a pause, then a heavy, frustrated sigh. “Vance did that to you? I’m sorry, Officer.”

“We found something interesting in his desk.” Jean wasn’t about to stop. “A note. Why did you want him to hire Depardeau so bad? I thought a man like him would look bad for the company as a whole.” He paused for effect. “Being in a relationship with another man can _so_ damage business prospects.”

“How much did he tell--!” She tried to stop herself, but it was too late.

“Fess up, Morton.” Harry was practically laying on Jean’s shoulder, eating this up with as much enthusiasm as Jean was. His whiskers tickled Jean’s face as he spoke again. “We know you told Vance to hire Depardeau, and to throw out the gear before garbage day.”

There was a pause on the other line, and a sigh. “Okay, fine. You got me.” Her voice sounded smug, now. All pretense was dropped. “Not that it matters. By the time you get to Central to arrest me, I’ll be on a boat leaving the Isola.”

Jean smirked. _Not if we can help it_. “Then why don’t you tell us the truth? Why did you have Paul killed? Did it have to do with Esther?”

Her breath hitched at the mention of the name. Suddenly, she became wrathful. “Why do you know her name?” A deep breath in, and out. “Yes, it did, in fact. Esther, my sister, Paul’s wife-to-be. Do you know what that scum did? He knocked her up, then took off. Poor, sweet Esther…” Annalise sounded genuinely sad. “And before you ask, no, Esther didn’t have a hand in all this. She was just the victim.”

She continued through gritted teeth. “So imagine my surprise when I hear through the grapevine that my _employee_ is dating the bridegroom who never was?” She scoffed. “I don’t particularly care about men dating men, or whatever that nonsense you said was, but I needed an excuse to get rid of Depardeau, and that was the best one I could think of.”

“So, why send Depardeau to Vance, then? If you hate him so much?” Jean felt like he knew the answer.

“To punish him, of course, for taking Paul away from Esther. I knew that he wouldn’t be open about their relationship, so it was a safe bet that even when the cops came calling, his silence would make him a suspect.” Jean heard the sound of a fist hitting a desk. “So _why_ couldn’t you just play along and lock Depardeau up?”

Harry’s head lowered slightly, as if thinking ‘we almost did.’

“Morton. Be honest. You didn’t tamper with the victim’s equipment, did you?”

“Of course not. Going out there myself would have been suicide. I got help.” A smirk shone through in her voice. “Not like I’m going to say who. I’m not some idiot villain in a movie.”

“No, no, of course not.” Jean’s own voice dripped with mockery. 

“Now, if you two will excuse me, I have a boat to catch, and…” She paused. Over the line, Jean could barely make out the muffled roar of engines and wail of sirens. “You… You son of a bitch.”

“It’s been fun playing chess with you, Morton. Would you be so kind as to keep the line open? I need to talk to the officers when they come up to get you.”

He waited, feeding coins into the payphone as needed, listening to the commotion over the phone as Annalise was taken into custody. She was surprisingly quiet about it. Pride was a powerful beast. After a moment, someone picked up the phone.

“Officer… Vicquemare, correct? This is Officer Chastain. Our precinct, the 57th, were the first to respond to the 41st’s call for aid.”

Jean cursed under his breath. Of all the offices in the city, it just had to be them, didn’t it?

The man on the other line seemed to register Jean’s silent frustration. “Not to worry, Officer. Neither myself nor my partner are interested in any sort of competition, here. We just want to assist.” He paused, clearly waiting for Jean to ask for assistance in something.

“Can you check Morton’s desk for anything that might be related to the case?”

“It might take a moment.”

Jean listened as patiently as he could as the sound of drawers opening and paper rustling filled his ear. Someone murmured off to the side, followed by a cackle. _So, the assclowns are out there. Fucking perfect._ A sterner sounding voice directed their attention, and the laughter died quickly. Footsteps, then soft muttering. The sound of wood sliding against itself. An audible “Oh, shit.” from Torson.

Finally, Chastain picked up the phone again. “Well, we’ve found something. It’s pretty grotesque. It’s a photograph, apparently of the victim’s body. From the picture, it seems like he was shoved into the back of a motor carriage.”

“That checks out.” Jean rolled his tongue over his teeth. “Where’d you find it?”

“There was a small box in one of the drawers, and a key in a different drawer. The picture was in an envelope addressed to her office. Seems like she wanted to have this as a keepsake.”

“Thank you for the help.” He turned to Harry to murmur, blinking as his lips brushed against mutton chop. How long had Harry been that close? “Sounds like Vance would have had to drive to a secluded place to get the shot. That could account for the time discrepancy.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “Told you you’d figure it out.”

Jean returned to the receiver, trying to not sound too pleased with himself. “Again, thank you, Chastain. We’re closing the line from here.”

“Of course, Officer.” 

Jean sunk the phone back into the hook, running his fingers through his hair. “Now, it’s a matter of finding the accomplice who actually cut the rope.”

Harry sighed. “We’ll find him. We have to.”

They waited in front of the Motor carriage once more for Judit to show. She and her partner arrived on scene not too long after. She hopped out of the passenger’s seat, hurrying over to the holding pen. “Is this the guy?”

Jean nodded. “Yep.” He watched as Harry yanked Vance out of the holding pen, a little too roughly. “Take it easy.”

Judit took hold of the links of the handcuffs. “We’ll get him back to the station.” She glanced over her shoulder, seeming irritated. “Here’s hoping traffic doesn’t get any worse before then.”

They watched as the other motor carriage, headlights blaring, disappeared into the maze of alleyways.

Harry looked up at the sky, watching it darken bit by bit. “The day’s already gotten away from us again…”

“Tomorrow, we’re going to the crime scene again.” Jean pursed his lips. “Maybe we’ll find something.” He felt a bit stuck, now. “We can check Vance’s office again.”

“Maybe Torson and McLaine will have found something from Morton’s desk.” They looked at each other and laughed hopelessly. “Or those hardasses from the 57th. They’re thorough, right?”

“Yeah, maybe so.” Jean sighed. “Look, we don’t have much of a leg to stand on, and I don’t know if I _can_ stand much longer. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to continue this conversation from a bed.”

When Jean had said ‘continue this conversation from a bed’ he hadn’t expected Harry to lie down right beside him in the same bed. The beds themselves were narrow and cramped, anyway, and they were pretty much pressed right up against each other. Harry’s arm slipped around Jean’s waist, pulling him closer.

“I keep trying to think of who it could have been…” Jean was struggling to focus. “I can’t get a clear idea.”

“Vance kept mentioning a new employee like someone was already all lined up.” Harry seemed to be having a much easier time, as if this were all coming naturally to him. His forehead was nearly pressed to Jean’s. “Maybe Morton sent someone from her part of the company to do it, with the intention that this guy fill for Paul after the excitement died down.” His hand squeezed Jean’s waist, slightly.

“That’s a good theory, probably the best one to go on for now.” Jean closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The lack of sleep and all the excitement was starting to give him a headache. Harry tilted his head, then pressed his palm gently against the side of Jean’s head. Somehow, it was comforting. Jean leaned into the hand without thinking.

“So… Is now a good time to talk about last night?”

“Harry…” Jean sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking tired.” He didn’t think he had the mental capacity to approach the subject.

“S’fine.” Harry’s lips brushed against his temple. “Don’t need to talk, necessarily.” He paused briefly. His eyes seemed to fill with inexplicable emotion. “Thank fucking god you’re okay.”

“Okay is subjective, but yeah, I’m alive.” Jean’s own expression softened. “I’m glad you’re not hurt, either.” He closed his eyes, resting his head against Harry’s shoulder again. It was a nice place to be.

“Night, babe.”

Jean smiled against Harry’s neck. In a few moments, he slipped into sleep with blissful ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very dialogue-heavy, but it kind of needed to be. It's also quite soft, somehow, which was nice. I can't not hurt/comfort. It's hardwired into my DNA.
> 
> Did i need to add the 57th into this? Nah. Did I want to add more pressure to the feud going on between two precincts by making the 41st require assistance? Yeah son. 
> 
> Anyways, have fun, as always.


	8. Comprehension, and Consummation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Jean begin the hunt for the final suspect. They have a brief detour of passions.

As wonderful as falling asleep had been, the peace couldn’t have lasted. Not on the heels of something so visceral. Just as the trigger was pulled, just as he heard the deafening explosion of a bullet firing against his ear, Jean awoke, sitting bolt upright. As he tried to escape the bed, he felt himself restrained.

Glancing down, he saw Harry staring back up at him. His arms were wrapped tight around Jean as if he were a stuffed doll. “Nightmare?” The man murmured. Jean nodded, lips pursed, then looked to the window. Rays of sunshine pierced the thin fabric of the curtains. A full night’s sleep, for the first time in who knows how long.

“You too?”

“All damn night.” Harry grit his teeth. “Every time I close my eyes, I see that little prick, holding a gun to your head…”

Jean’s heart sank. _It’s really fucking him up that bad?_ “I should have been paying more attention. I let him get the jump on us. That one was my fault.” He leaned his head down to rest his forehead against Harry’s.

Harry’s broad palms found their way to his back, stroking all over. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, babe. Who knows where the fucker got a gun anyway.” He paused, seeing Jean’s pensive expression. “What’s on your mind?”

“Today, we need to call Jules again, first thing. See if those idiots actually found any other evidence in Morton’s desk. If not… “ He sighed. “We’ll try to get a call to those guys from the 57th.” He looked down again to see Harry grinning.

“It really bothers you, huh? Having to accept help from there.”

“Well maybe if they weren’t a bunch of self-righteous pricks who use our every failing against us, I wouldn’t be so bothered.” Jean huffed through his nose.

“Heh. Well, that Chastain guy didn’t sound so bad.” Harry gripped Jean’s waist, trying to keep him from leaving the bed, but Jean was determined, now.

“This could be our only lead. Come on, we gotta go.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Officer Vicquemare.” Jules’ voice was soft, placating. “Neither Officer McLaine nor Torson found anything else.”

Judit quipped from the side. “They were in such a hurry to bring back the photograph and the suspect that they left before checking the desk. I think they said they wanted to ‘get a leg up on those 57th tightasses.’ Direct quote.”

Jean growled under his breath, teeth bared. This wasn’t ideal. “Okay, Jules. Can you please patch me over to the 57th, then? I bet they found something.”

“Just one moment, sir.”

Static rushed through the speaker of the radio on the motor carriage before a young woman’s voice came through. “57th Precinct, Alice Demettrie, speaking. How can I help you?” Her tone was genuinely friendly.

“Hi, look.” Jean ran a hand through his hair. “The officers who were involved in yesterday’s arrest at the Sunlight Electrical building, are they present? I want to ask if they found anything else in the executive’s desk.”

“Please wait a minute.” He heard her chair creak as she stepped away from her desk. A few faraway voices, then the chair creaked again. A different voice came through now, measured and professional. “Officer Vicquemare, yes? This is Lieutenant Kitsuragi. Officer Chastain and I were involved in the arrest at Sunlight Electrical. I understand you have questions about that?”

 _This guy sounds like a real prick._ Jean kept his internal dialogue in check. “Yeah, yeah. I was wondering if you got anything else out of Morton’s desk, other than the photo.”

“We confiscated several files from the suspect’s affects…” The sound of pages flipping rapidly. “Was there anything specific you had in mind?”

Jean gnawed at his lip thoughtfully. “Maybe an employee list, or something that recorded hirings, firings.”

There was a brief silence. “In fact, we did take something along those lines. There was a ledger that documented several transfers of employees between branches. From the document we have drawn the conclusion that Morton often switched employees out or fired them, only to have them picked up by different branches around the city. While there are no reasons stated in the record, it seemed questionable enough to make the document of interest.”

Jean felt a mix of elation and irritation. Yes, he was glad that there was a chance, but it had to be in this guy’s hands… “Is there a Renaud Depardeau listed on the document?”

“Yes, it’s the second to last item on the list.”

“Shit! What’s the last item?!”

Another pause. Without seeing it, Jean could picture the surprised expression on the Lieutenant’s face in the wake of his enthusiasm. “Ah. The name listed is ‘Jack Heron.’” It seems he was slated to join the Eminent Domain branch upon leaving the branch at Central Jamrock—”

“Fucking god! Thank you!”

“Pardon?”

“Er. Nothing. Disregard that.” Jean adjusted his tie. “Thank you for the help. I think that’s all we need.” He hung up before the lieutenant could respond further to his outburst, then looked to Harry. “Jack Heron. You were right. Morton was gonna send him here, and Vance must have known it.” He looked to the console again. “Now, let’s see if Jules can get us any information on this guy—”

Jean heard the sound of a punch thrown before he could see it. He turned to look at Harry, who was staggering to the side, away from the assailant. “Augh! Son of a—“

The newcomer was wearing full-length coveralls and a scarf around their mouth. Sunglasses and a knit cap disguised their other features, and gloves hid their hands. Jean had the impression of who it might be. _Seriously? Ambushed for the second time in two days?!_

Harry was already back on his feet with his fists bunched together, but the hit had been hard on him. Jean could see Harry sway in place, and there was the beginning of swelling at his temple. _Anyone other than Harry probably would have gone down from a blow like that._ Instead, Harry roared and charged the attacker.

Unfortunately, the assailant seemed prepared for that exact scenario, ducking at the last moment and throwing themselves against Harry’s legs, making him bowl over through his own momentum. Jean could have sworn he heard Harry’s knee pop out of place, and the horrible sound that came from Harry’s mouth as he hit the ground supported that theory.

“Oh, you son of a--!” Jean threw his jacket into the open door of the MC, needing to be as unrestricted as possible. The unknown attacker stood over Harry. Something at their side glinted in the light. Jean was on them in an instant, landing a solid blow to the side of their jaw. They stumbled back before leaning forward, swinging almost desperately.

Jean felt a sharp sting across one arm and reeled back just in time, but not escaping a shallow gash across his right side. The sleeve and body of his shirt started to bloom red. “Little bastard…!” Jean backed up, leaning his body away, reading the assailant’s moves. An opening presented itself as the attacker stepped forward, lowering their guard as they prepared to swing again.

Jean grabbed the arm with the knife and grappled it, hesitating only a moment before using his free arm to pummel their elbow. It only took one hit before the attacker yelled out in pain, dropping the knife as their arm bent awkwardly. Jean ducked, grabbing the knife, then sliced upward. The blade was ridiculously sharp, slicing through the fabric of their scarf and leaving a jagged line from their chin to their upper lip.

Then, their free hand darted out and found purchase, knuckles brutally beating against Jean’s throat. As he reeled, hacking and gasping, the assailant took off. Jean tried to curse, but couldn’t form words, his voice coming out in a strained wheeze. He tried to get his bearings enough to give chase, but the attacker had already disappeared into the surrounding scenery.

Harry limped over, hobbling to keep upright. “Fucker nearly dislocated my damn knee…” He spat at the ground, grumbling from the pain, but his attention was immediately taken by the sight of blood staining Jean’s clothes. “Fuck--! How bad did it—”

“It’s… hhh.” Talking was still a struggle. He waved his hand instead, indicating to Harry that the wounds weren’t that deep. He moved back over to the MC, searching the front until he located a medical kit. He opened it up, discovering to his dismay that they had run out of antiseptic. “Tch…” He coughed again. “Need to… clean it out…”

“There’s a Frittte nearby. I can run in and get disinfectant.”

Jean cocked a brow and looked at Harry’s leg.

“I can _hobble_ in and get disinfectant. Although, I’m reluctant to leave you on your own, bleeding.” He paused.

Jean shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I can still stand, and fight if I have to. Doubt they’ll come back right now anyway, they have wounds of their own to deal with.” He smiled, a little proud of himself. “Besides, I can call Jules now, ask him to look for any information on Jack Heron. I think that was him, by the way.”

Jean made the call while Harry rushed as fast as his legs could carry him to the Frittte. It was over rather quickly, so he just laid in the driver’s basket for a moment, holding his arm and side. How much more would they have to go through before they finally finished this case? His head lolled back against the seat as he closed his eyes, exhausted. Softly, he started humming to himself, waiting.

Harry wasn’t necessarily easy to miss, so it surprised Jean when the man was hovering over him again, grinning. “That’s nice. Can’t keep ‘Fin de Siecle’ out of your head, huh?”

“Well, it keeps coming up.” Jean sat upright. “Can we go back to the room? I’d rather bleed on the sheets than on precinct property, if only to keep Pryce out of my hair.”

It didn’t take long for Jean to patch up his wounds once he had the antiseptic on hand. Harry had been quick enough to grab some over-the-counter pain medicine, as well. Jean downed a couple quickly, finishing a glass of water in seconds, feeling parched. With the cuts covered up sufficiently and the bleeding problem stopped, bloodied shirts tossed to the side to be dealt with later, Jean flopped back against the bed, then grunted as he remembered just how uncomfortable it was. _It was a lot more cozy with Harry lying beside you._

As if reading his mind (Jean swore sometimes that Harry actually could) Harry settled in on the bed beside him, hand once again snaking over to _gingerly_ rest on Jean’s waist. He had a small ice pack tied around his knee with gauze and seemed to already be feeling better. Jean wondered if he’d taken anything more substantial than what he himself had downed for the pain.

“Shit, we don’t really have the time to lay around, do we?” Jean closed his eyes, reluctant to move.

“Well, sure we do, babe. Jules is on the hunt for our guy. I’m pretty sure that little bastard is gonna come try to get us again. Even if he doesn’t come to us, we didn’t see his face, so he’s probably not going to try and run, yet.”

“How can you be so sure?” Jean wanted to be just as sure. He really didn’t want to get up.

“I have a good feeling. You know, my intuition. You _know_ how good my instincts are.” Harry grinned, leaning in and nuzzling the side of Jean’s face.

Jean wriggled a little in place. Harry’s facial hair was ticklish, prickling against the sensitive skin of his jaw and neck. “Yeah, I know. It’s the only reason I’m choosing to lay here rather than go hunt that fucker down.”

“You chose wisely.” Harry’s lips brushed against Jean’s throat, earning a startled gasp. “Oh? I think I found something good, here.”

“Shut it.” Jean hardly had any conviction behind his words.

“Nah, don’t think I will, babe.” Instead, Harry pressed their lips together again. This time, Jean was the one to tilt his head, to deepen the kiss. The hand Harry had rested on Jean’s side slipped around to the small of his back, pulling their hips closer together. Jean couldn’t help the quiet noise that escaped him, and Harry smirked devilishly, pulling his head back to take in Jean’s expression.

“Hhn… Harry, I…” His voice faltered as Harry rolled them over, pressing his weight against Jean’s body and watching his reaction. Jean cursed internally. It seemed that Harry had been paying attention to Jean’s body language that other night, as well. “Fuck…”

“That’s the plan.” Harry grinned as Jean sputtered. “That’s been the plan this whole time. Not that you didn’t know.” Harry’s hand slipped lower, groping Jean’s ass firmly. Jean’s back arched so hard he could almost feel his spine strain.

“I… Ah, I do want this, you know that…” Jean’s hands trailed Harry’s broad shoulders, then gripped. “I think you want more than what we’re prepared for, though.”

“What do you mean—Oh!” Harry smiled, genuinely excited. “Not to worry, babe.” He leaned away for a moment, and Jean tried not to miss his body heat too much. He sat back up with the bag from the Frittte, pulling out a small bottle.

Jean’s expression went blank. “Harry? Harry.”

“What?” Harry looked a bit defensive.

“While I was sitting in the front of the motor carriage, bleeding… You… were buying lube.”

“I got the stuff we needed, too!” He pouted. “It was sitting there near the front, and I thought it might come in handy.” His expression shifted and he winked. “I was right, too.”

Jean covered his face with his hands. The absurdity of it all was too much, and he started cackling, genuinely laughing until his face ached. “God… damn it! You’re so fucking… insane..! Ahh, my cheeks hurt…!”

“Oh, they’re gonna.” Harry’s hands found their way to Jean’s ass again, gripping a little more eagerly than before.

This time, Jean didn’t dispute it, instead opting to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck, sighing and shuddering. He lifted his head to kiss Harry again, humming contentedly when Harry pressed back. The kiss quickly grew more feverish, and Jean parted his lips enough to let Harry’s eager tongue do as it pleased, meeting it with his own.

Harry couldn’t quite contain his excitement anymore, and pressed their hips together roughly, grinding against Jean almost desperately. The friction was almost too much to bear. Jean felt lightheaded, chalking it up to a combination of blood loss, flustered excitement, and the rest of his blood being redirected to the wrong place.

“You do know what you’re doing, right…?” Jean asked breathlessly.

“Don’t worry about a thing, baby. I’ll make sure you’re nice and ready…” Harry leaned in to kiss the shell of Jean’s ear, nipping lightly.

 _So, now it’s baby?_ Jean only nodded, spreading his legs apart for Harry to fit better between. Harry’s hands darted to Jean’s hips and got rid of any clothing in the way in a rush, tossing them aside. He grabbed the bottle from the nightstand, slicking his fingers. He looked down at Jean, then gave him a dirty grin before squeezing some of the contents all over his ass and thighs.

Jean jolted. “Fuck, that’s cold!” Harry simply hummed and slid his palms over the slippery mess he created as if to warm it up.

“This is a good look on you, baby…” Harry’s hand slipped once more between Jean’s legs, palming him before pressing his middle finger teasingly at the entrance, then carefully slipping it inside.

Jean tensed up. Sure, he’d played with himself before, but it was a much different experience feeling someone else do it. And of all the people in the world it could have been, it was Harry. Harry experimentally curling his finger oh so slightly, Harry thrusting his finger in with a steady rhythm, Harry kissing and sucking at Jean’s neck as he slid another finger inside…

“You look so fucking good, babe…” Harry sighed. Pressed close to Jean as he was, he rocked his hips, rutting himself on Jean’s thigh and groaning from the relief it brought him. “And it’s so hot here… I can’t wait to push my cock in, instead…”

“Hah… Hurry up and do it, then…! Enough teasing…” Truth be told, Jean was enjoying this teasing very much, but his mind was clouded, muddled, and he was impatient for more intimacy.

Harry was more than willing to provide. He pulled his fingers out slowly before quickly freeing himself from his pants, humming eagerly as he grabbed the bottle again to slick his cock. Jean sighed happily as Harry returned to lay on him again, once more pressing his weight down, pinning him against the bed. The sigh turned to a sharp gasp as Harry prodded, then slowly pressed in, gradually moving until he was halfway in.

Jean’s hands gripped and worked at Harry’s shoulders, one slipping up the back of his neck to knead at his nape. Harry kept their faces close together, his own hands wandering up and down Jean’s sides, admiring the lines of his body. “You’re so fucking hot… God, Jean. You’re a fucking statue. You’re goddamn beautiful.” 

Jean met Harry’s gaze, hanging on to every word. _How could something so simple feel like everything you’ve ever wanted to hear?_ He half-smirked. “I don’t know where you get that idea.”

“I mean, fuck, babe. You ever look in a mirror? You’re like a model… Nnh.” Harry’s expression shifted as he rocked his hips, moving at a steady pace. Jean tensed up. Between the friction of Harry’s body pressed to his own and Harry’s cock drilling into him, he felt like he would lose his mind. “I dunno what you’re doing with a guy who looks like I do?”

“The hell are you… talking about?” Jean had to pause midsentence to gasp. “If _I’m_ beautiful, hot, a model, whatever…” Another pause as his back arched, his breath coming as a whine. “Then you’re… Hnn..! Ah…” He couldn’t quite focus on analogies, anymore. “You’re so fucking hot, okay? Don’t… Ever tell yourself different.” _Yes, even with the mutton-chops._

Either way, Harry seemed thrilled by Jean’s praise, and more thrilled by the noises he was making. Jean jolted, feeling Harry’s cock twitch inside him, and another breathless sound escaped him. “Hh~ that’s it, mewl for me…”

Before Jean could question where _that_ statement had come from, Harry was bucking into him more eagerly, quickly losing track of his inhibition. Jean didn’t really mind, instead gripping at the back of Harry’s neck and throwing his head back, hair tousling against the pillow as his pulse quickened.

Harry’s consistent pace and the overabundance of friction and body heat brought on Jean’s climax before he could even try to hold back, painting his and Harry’s abdomen and adding to the mess of lubricant and sweat. Harry leaned over Jean all the more, pushing himself deep and filling him from the inside. Despite himself, Jean groaned, draping his legs around Harry’s waist to keep him close. Sure, it would be a hassle to clean later, but he wasn’t worrying about that at the moment.

“Mmm… fuck, babe… You’re so fucking good.” Harry complimented. Jean floated in a heady haze of fulfillment and pulled Harry into another passionate kiss.

 _I don’t want to hear him say ‘babe’ to anyone else._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, THEY FUCK. Which is why this chapter feels so damn long.
> 
> LMFAO. Well, this chapter was fun and challenging to write. I really enjoyed this one, as well. I'd gotten so used to slow burns I'd forgotten what writing actual sex felt like. 
> 
> Other than the sex, I enjoyed the brief cameo in this chapter.
> 
> Now, when will they finally put their feelings into words~?

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place before the game events, because I have no reign on my own hubris.
> 
> What was initially going to be a one-off is gradually evolving into something out of my control! I think it was in the description of the highway where the narrative took off without me. I'm excited to see where this goes. (I don't plan shit very well.) Updates will be sporadic at best, but I'm looking forward to this project. 
> 
> After reading so many exciting case fics, I want to try it out in my style. 
> 
> Harry's characterization, and the nickname "babe", all come from my wonderful RP partner runwithbelief, as usual. Seriously my guys this man is my muse. 
> 
> Can I write anything that isn't about pining? 
> 
> Cerveau Extraordinaire... aka It's Big Brain (tm) Time.


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